


GS & JPM: The Confidence Game

by fables



Series: Behind The Scenes Stock Exposés [2]
Category: Anthropomorphism, Stocks (Anthropomorfic)
Genre: Age Difference, Boardroom Orgies, Canon-Typical Violence, Group Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other, Public Sex, Seduction, Stockslash, Underage Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-05
Updated: 2008-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fables/pseuds/fables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said that money lubricated the world, they being the reality-challenged, who would break down the Golden Goose into her separate components, wings and neck and head and heart and liver cut and separated and individually wrapped. Who would be the highest bidders for these disconnected parts, who would be surprised when there were no Golden Eggs forthcoming from inside them (though when they were ousted by their boards would still be able to collect their golden parachutes). They were puppets who imagine themselves puppet-masters, which made them almost - disappointingly easy to predict.</p><p>GS wasn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GS & JPM: The Confidence Game

They said that money lubricated the world, _they_ being the reality-challenged, who would break down the Golden Goose into her separate components, wings and neck and head and heart and liver cut and separated and individually wrapped. Who would be the highest bidders for these disconnected parts, who would be surprised when there were no Golden Eggs forthcoming from inside them (though when they were ousted by their boards would still be able to collect their golden parachutes). They were puppets who imagine themselves puppet-masters, which made them almost - disappointingly easy to predict.

GS wasn't one of them, and liked to imagine that he never had been. He didn't pretend to be an upholder of moral order and stability except when in public (which major corporation doesn't?), but neither did he consider himself just another depraved investment bank. And despite appearances to the contrary (appearances which he took great care to cultivate), it had nothing to do with morals. Rather, it had to do with the others being either too conventional or too _stupid_ , losing all control at the first scent of money, while he – well. He was an innovator, a true creator.

An original.

(And perhaps GS was right in believing this. Although we have reams of data and management theories at our fingertips, we are, after all, just casual observers. Outsiders who can never truly know the pressures that such corporations face, can never truly walk in their shoes. And GS is not just any corporation; comparing him to NASDAQ stocks is like comparing the pyramids of Giza to their Las Vegas replicas, and imagining, for accuracy's sake, that those pyramids have funded and underwritten, without regard to structural integrity, the building of their replicas.

But though we can never know the truth of this, we can, perhaps, trust it to be completely unlike what GS claims it to be.)

Unlike his compatriots, GS didn't attempt to kill the Golden Goose, nor did he leave it alone on the trust that things would continue as they had always been, Golden Eggs popping out with the regularity of a metronome, for he knew that the only constant in life was change. Instead, he _bred_ it.

Of course he had a few slip-ups, such as the bankruptcy of the Penn Center Railroad Company, but again, which major corporation hadn't? The main thing was, he learned from them, became more experienced and skilled. Some of his compatriots never did, still driven by nothing more than animal instinct, the desire to acquire wealth as soon as possible, in whichever way possible, and _flaunt_ it, the way BSC had taken over several rooms of the NYSE through arm-pulling or bribes or sometimes even hostile acquisitions. As if he was an internet start-up in the late nineties who had just won the IPO lottery and not a steady member of the Fortune 500.

GS, on the other hand, had neither the largest nor the smallest apartment at the NYSE, though his was impeccably located in the center of the building. Most of the deals that occurred – the ones that counted, anyway - did so there, in the tastefully, unobtrusively decorated rooms that spoke of both stability and innovation, with their unparalleled view of various trading pits and electronic markets. And for those with a discerning eye, signs of his wealth were impossible to miss – his crisply tailored suits and flawless ties, discreet gold cuffs with diamond hooks, the paintings that lined his walls, classical portraits and geometric line-drawings and Dali-inspired post-modern deconstructionist homages resting together in seeming harmony, the designer furniture and the priceless antiques and smooth pieces of sculpture that lay scattered, seemingly at random, throughout the apartment. As if he was too busy, couldn't be bothered, to put them in order. As if what others considered treasures he considered nothing more than trifles.

On the day the phone call came, GS was brokering a prenuptial agreement between stocks young enough to be his great-great-grandchildren, with dreams of conquering the world and a debt-to-equity ratio equal to crippling a good portion of it. This new generation had no concept of _moderation_ or _modesty_ , he thought, recalling a time when the corporate landscape had been dominated by the likes of SHLD, stocks who took the time and effort to hide their greed beneath a pretense of humility and eloquent declarations of corporate responsibility, who disguised the fact that they were preparing to lay off workers, instead of announcing it ahead of dismal quarterly earnings and expecting their bids to rise at the news. This new generation, on the other hand – and there was a part of him that balked at even calling them corporations, because really, they were nothing more than _ticker tape babies_ \- were more concerned with the division of yet-to-be-seen profits than figuring out the intricacies of their partnership.

GS's phone rang and his Blackberry pinged at the same time. He glanced at the number, then excused himself in the middle of mouthing their turgid option clauses with a murmured "perhaps things would go more smoothly if you retreated to the corner office, and worked on some of these kinks together for a bit? You'll find it thoroughly equipped for exactly such a thing." Wiped his lips and made himself presentable, turning down the eager assistance of the law firms and boutique investment banks that always seemed underfoot during deals like this, salivating voyeurs eager to take in every thrust and breach, every forceful takeover and tearful, cornered submission, before leaving the boardroom. Walked down the hallway, and answered his phone when he was sure he wouldn't be overheard. (NWS had become trickier and more tenacious after his restructuring, as GS had realized to his dismay two months ago, one of his supposedly confidential affairs splashed on the front page of the WSJ for all to see.)

"GS. Have you heard?" JPM didn't identify himself, and had no need to. His was one of the voices that GS would recognize anywhere, and they were well past the stage of formalities, had been for over a hundred and forty years. GS scrolled down the messages on his Blackberry. His eyes widened when he saw the latest.

"Yes." GOOG was releasing a secondary IPO in two months, on the anniversary of his first. "I take it that we're as unlikely to secure invitations to this as we were to his debutante ball. Pity."

"I can't believe he had the bloody gall to do this again." JPM's voice was low and cultured and utterly furious, the same silky, dangerous tone that he used to bring his acquisitions and foreign subsidiaries to heel, trembling to lick his leather shoes. It failed to work with GS, who thought that there were a great many things that JPM couldn't believe.

JPM was too bound to the past, still yearning for a world where politicians and central bankers eagerly assumed any position he wished, his word worth all the gold in the Federal Treasury; where deals were concluded with discreet seductions and handshakes instead of public exhibitions involving an army of lawyers and bankers and publicists, cameras recording it all for posterity. His was a name that breathed old money, ten course dinners under chandeliers that made the silverware glitter, the smell of tobacco pipes as the men retreated to the study while the women gossiped about the latest scandal involving the roguish railroad stocks, a weight of tradition that JPM alternately struggled against and fervently embraced.

But still, this news was a bit surprising, perhaps even disturbing. There was, however, no point in letting JPM know that. They were competitors after all. JPM seemed to have forgotten that, caught up in his outrage. GS, who never forgot such things, said, "I didn't know you cared so much, JPM. Would you like me to have one of my subsidiaries steal a piece of the cake for you?"

There was silence on the other end, and then, "What will it require for you to acknowledge him as a threat? A takeover that leaves you begging on your knees?"

"He has neither the knowledge nor the desire. We move in completely different worlds, and MSFT and YHOO keep him safely occupied in his. Besides, who would underwrite such a thing? _BSC_?"

"There's nothing BSC wouldn't do for money."

"Except even he wouldn't be so stupid." GS thought of all the skeletons in BSC's closets, bribes and illegal tax shelters and off-balance sheet products. GS knew what most of them were, and was working on figuring out the rest. He had no doubt that JPM was doing the same. BSC was as much a threat to them as a fly would be to an elephant. "He has a finely honed sense of self-preservation, no matter what his other faults might be."

"GOOG sets a bad precedent. That he was able to auction himself away to the highest bidders - it was a direct insult to us, and that we stood by and did nothing, that two of our own even _helped_ him-"

GS winced despite himself. "What would you have me do, challenge GOOG to a duel at 20 bytes?"

It was still somewhat of a sore spot with him. If the circumstances had been different, if it had been anyone else, GS would have applauded. To be able to capture all the profits from your first public offering for yourself, despite centuries of tradition that dictated that they must be shared among the underwriters (a tradition that GS counted among his most brilliant ideas); to institute a dual-class stock structure that robbed patron shareholders of their desired rights and spin it as being in their own best interests. It was an audacious master stroke, especially in one so young.

But GS had been one of the companies left out in the cold. And so he twisted arms, called in favors, and there wasn't one major analyst that didn't downgrade GOOG's IPO, one major journalist that didn't spread rumors about his lack of stamina and bad judgment. Large investors and mutual funds stayed away from his offering, and GOOG couldn't so much as sneeze without regulators flocking around him to question his motives for doing so and reporters declaring it a sign of a fatal disease, and how would he be able to make profits, lying on his back on his _death_ bed?

GS had thought that would be enough, because for most people it would have been.

GOOG, however, was not like other people. GS had underestimated him, and all he had to show for his efforts was the doubling of GOOG's price, and the enmity of a stock more powerful than ever, with a stronger capital base and a growing market share.

GS had failed rather spectacularly at getting what he wanted.

Still, you didn't live for as long as he had, survive the things he had, without learning that there were times when it was better to lie low and wait. He had underestimated GOOG once. He wasn't about to make the same mistake again. JPM had been around ever longer; why did he persist in doing so?

"Look, JPM," GS began. "I agree with you that GOOG is an annoying brat that needs to be –"

"He is more than annoying. He is dangerous, and we need to come up with a strategy, a comprehensive way of dealing with the threat he represents."

"You're getting a bit carried away here. We're both having one of our best years, with record revenues and profit growth and the expansion of our foreign and derivatives businesses. Not to mention, there are more start-ups than ever desperate and begging for our attentions, eager to spread their shares and allow us to take their initial public offerings, ushering them into stockhood. Forget GOOG for now – there's nothing we can do about him, but more importantly, in the long run he _doesn't_ _matter_. Keep your eye on the bottom line and—"

"But he is affecting my bottom line! Each time his price rises my skills are called in question, my performance mocked, and I can't-"

For a moment GS considered hanging up, or leading JPM on until he did something compromising, something that caught the attention of the regulators, perhaps involving incriminating tapes of his more salacious backroom derivatives deals leaked to NWS. It would mean one less competitor that GS had to worry about.

But GS knew his limitations, knew that if the day ever came when he and GOOG faced off, he would need help. JPM was one of the most powerful and clever men out there, at least when he wasn't being so one-track minded and _stubborn_.

And so GS cut in with a murmured, "JPM. _Trust me_ , I know how you feel." Stretched his legs, settling against the wall. This could take some time. "I was the one first contracted for the IPO deal, remember? The primary until GOOG changed his mind. I have more reason than anyone to want revenge. But what you have to realize..."

GS's voice was smooth and low, as calming as he could make it. He'd do JPM a favor, stay on the phone until he was sure that JPM was _thinking_ instead of just reacting. And when an appropriate opportunity came, he'd find a way to collect.

 

Later that day, when GS was sitting at the bleachers of the Baker Athletic Complex, looking out at the immaculately tended fields of Columbia University and the humans that were running through it with netted sticks, nodding and murmuring _Really_! at the appropriate places as MS regaled him with the latest antics of the high-flying housing stocks, he thought back to his conversation with JPM. The threat, however indirect and remote, that GOOG represented.

GOOG had been different the past year. Where before he'd exclusively focused on research and development, now he seemed determined to make as many acquisitions and partnerships as he could. As if he was in a race, had fallen behind and had to catch up. GS wondered what GOOG was trying to prove, who he was trying to prove it to. Whether GOOG even _knew_. If the secondary offering was successful, it would give GOOG as much capital as he could want, enough to threaten even MSFT. Profit projections would have to be revised. He waited until MS and C started discussing their latest international partnership, a conversation that he wasn't required to pretend to pay attention to, then took out his Blackberry, making rapid-fire calculations. Taking into account the current economic trends and the P &L projections based on the balance sheet-

"You fucking blind assholes, the net was _right there_!"

GS's thumb slipped, entering extra zeros, taking GOOG's expected profits to the gazillions. Beside him, MS sighed, muttering under his breath. GS exchanged frowns with C, then turned his gaze on the field where BSC stood, red-faced and furious, intent on expressing his displeasure at a missed goal at great length and volume.

There was a shifting around GS, people moving to higher bleachers. With a sigh, GS shut off his Blackberry. It was impossible to concentrate when BSC was in one of his moods. He was never content until he'd dragged everyone in his immediate vicinity into it. GS considered following the others up, but it was too ridiculous, allowing the likes of BSC to govern his actions. So he sat there, watched BSC's overreaction to what was nothing more than a friendly lacrosse game. The only reason GS even came was to encourage his employees, since he believed that a balanced life led to superior performance and greater profits in the long run. Yelling at them was utterly counter-productive.

BSC had always been a thorn at GS's side, his outlook completely antithetical to GS's own. Even his appearance, the way he brought his suits from the rack (though to be fair it was the most expensive rack that could be found), luxurious materials that were jarringly ill-fitted, pants loose, jacket too tight around the shoulders, sleeves a fraction of an inch too long. BSC spent money as if he were a desert sheikh and $100 notes were nothing more than irritating grains of sand, and he smiled in a way that reminded GS of snake-oil salesmen at the turn of the century, promising a cure for polio and tuberculosis, infertility and erectile dysfunction, even immortality for an additional forty cents. An opaque glass bottle that contained the solutions to all the problems in the world, and it had surprised GS how many people believed them (though that hadn't stopped him from underwriting more than a few, watching them go public and collecting handsomely on the proceeds).

But just when GS was ready to write BSC off as a tasteless glutton, someone who couldn't recognize value if it clobbered him over the face (and it was no wonder that BSC's traders were struggling to make profits even in ridiculously bullish years), just at that moment, BSC would seal a deal that left GS breathless at its audacious brilliance, and look up, smirking at GS. And GS would stand there stunned by the realization that, at that moment, he was jealous of _BSC_.

One thing that remained constant, though, was how much BSC hated to lose, even at the most trivial things, and furthermore how sensitive he was about it. Last year GS had been involved in a particularly exhausting deal in which BSC had been the lead. The numbers hadn't added up; no matter how hard they tried or how much money they used as lubrication, things just hadn't _fit_ ; regulators had been hammering the door and demanding to be included; and JPM had voiced what all the other banks were thinking - that perhaps if BSC based less of his hiring on lacrosse abilities and more on boardroom skills, there would be fewer debacles like this.

It had been all that GS and LB could do to keep BSC from leaping over the table and attacking. Blood was very hard to get out of legal documents and SEC filings, and none of them had signed up for something _that_ hardcore. There were limits.

GS tried to imagine what JPM would say if he could see BSC now, arms wind-milling as he exhorted his players to make another goal to tie the game. JPM refused to even attend these games, perceiving them as being beneath his dignity. Much of the world seemed to be, these days.

On the field, closer to the action (where he most liked to be), BSC sensed GS's stare. (If pressed, even GS would have to admit that BSC had the awareness and reflexes of a feral tiger, equal to or better than the rest of the investment banks combined. But GS preferred not to dwell on such things. The world was more civilized these days and there was no need to. If he wanted brawn he could _hire_ it, and quite cheaply too.)

BSC turned around, eyes narrowing as he took in GS's amused gaze, his casual sprawl on the bleachers. GS had a way of acting that always raised BSC's hackles. As if the world was populated by actors hired for the sole purpose of pleasing him, and it was too bad that the actors – that _you_ – were too dim to realize it.

"Do you have a problem?" BSC asked with a hard look.

"Not at all," GS said. His smile widened, and he said, in a voice as soft and pleasant as the gently blowing breeze, "Do _you_?"

And GS could almost see the wheels turning in the back of BSC's clever eyes, weighing the pros and cons of a direct challenge, the consequences, finally coming to the conclusion that the risks weren't worth it. Fire hidden and veiled, and BSC smiled, as sharp as a shark. Bounded up the bleachers and slapped GS on the back, much harder than necessary. "Not at all," BSC said, so much boisterous good cheer in his voice that he could've made DIS seem dour. "It's a beautiful day, and I'm spending it with my closest friends. What more could a stock ask for?"

GS laughed. BSC was right. It was a beautiful summer day, and there wasn't much more he could ask than this – knowing that all it would require was a careless threat, and even the most vicious and unpredictable of stocks would come to heel for him. There were few things in the world that could match such a high.

Only one that he could come up with off the top of his head.

GS shrugged off BSC's arm, murmured, "Do we really need to have a talk about personal distance again?" As ever, BSC had no sense of propriety, no sense that such things _must_ remain confined to the backrooms and boardrooms.

But there was a stock that did.

GS took out his Blackberry and set about clearing a chunk of his schedule for later that night.

 

JPM's apartment was on a higher floor than GS's. GS knocked, three times, and JPM opened with a – "How many times do I need to tell you that I won't go into a CDS with you at lower than a 5% - GS."

"Hello," GS said. "Has WM been bothering you?"

"Who else? He asks for the most ridiculous terms, and doesn't know how to take no for an answer. But what brings you here? Is this about GOOG?"

GS frowned, his good mood abruptly vanishing. "Not everything has to be about him." He brushed past JPM, not bothering to wait for JPM to invite him in.

"Yes, but considering that he was the last thing we talked about, and now you're here with no notice--"

" _JP_ ," he said. And JPM looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed, his attention completely, thoroughly diverted.

There was only one time when GS used his first name.

"I have a proposition for you," GS said.

"Do you?" JPM asked, his voice wary and amused. "Are you sure this is the right time for it? You have so much on your plate—"

"I am. _Very good._ At multitasking." GS stepped closer, close enough to touch, and JPM was perceptive enough to take it as the invitation it was.

"Then why don't you tell me the details, Goldman," his voice deep and rich in GS's ear. "And make it good. I had to turn away WM. I would hate to do the same to you."

"I'll try not to disappoint," GS said, chuckling, and went to work, starting with JPM's clothes.

JPM had centuries of experience to draw upon when it came to this, knew as many tricks as GS did. GS tried to convince JPM that they should go further than a missionary CDS, and furthermore that he should top, be the lead bank, whispering promises into JPM's ear. JPM, used to such games, countered by asking for dozens of disclosure agreements, because, he said, his voice low and utterly seductive, _he wanted to know Goldman, know all of him_. They spent the next few hours working out the kinks in their deal to, GS liked to think, their mutual satisfaction.

Power plays with the likes of BSC were diverting, amusing enough for what they were. But even they didn't compare to this, to the enjoyment and frustration and _challenge_ of dealing with JPM, who had such exquisite timing, knowing exactly when to yield, when to press on.

They really should do this more often.

 

As soon as the deal was completed, GS got off the bed, gathering his clothes. He had things to do, and JPM didn't expect him to stay; never had. There was no danger of him taking things too seriously, of reading exclusivity into what they did. It was one of the many reasons that they worked so well together, were so compatible with each other.

It had never, before, disturbed him.

"Goodnight," JPM said absently, not bothering to look up from his Blackberry. GS's unexpected appearance had already put him behind schedule, however satisfying and lucrative the deal turned out to be. He didn't want to fall behind even more. "You are going to sleep now, right?"

"Soon, yes," GS said. He knew that JPM would stay up all night, adhering to the same 24-hour schedule that he had for over a hundred years. The times might change, but JPM never seemed to.

 

Back in his apartment, GS flipped open his cell phone, closed it, stared out the window at the European trading pits, the LIFFE exchange that never seemed to close, taking in the market movements, the gentle ups and downs like waves lapping on a shore.

It wasn't like him to be so indecisive.

Finally, taking a deep breath, he dialed the number. There was a click on the other end, and then a low, nasally voice was greeting him.

"GS, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you tonight?"

"Have you heard the news?" GS asked.

"I hear a lot of news. Which one in particular are you referring to?"

GS almost smiled. He'd always been fond of MSFT. Thought of him as a protégé, having been the one who brokered his deal with IBM, having undertaken his first public offering. And it had been so very gratifying, how responsive MSFT had been to his cues, how quickly he'd become a master of the game. GS had watched proudly as MSFT exceeded every analyst's wildest, wettest dreams, ushering in a new world, a new era of trading.

"I'm referring to the news about GOOG's second IPO," GS said, getting straight to the point. He had enough respect for MSFT to forego his usual games. It would be like a magician performing in front of an audience that already knows his tricks.

"Ah. Yes, I had. I'd expected something like this, but not this soon. It hasn't even been a year. Youngsters these days truly have no patience."

GS laughed. MSFT said that as if he were centuries old, when just a few years ago he'd been nothing more than a garage baby.

"Do you know what purpose he intends to use the money for?"

It wasn't money that lubricated things and ensured the smooth running of their world, like GS's more short-sighted compatriots thought. Nor was it information, though it did come in useful, especially at times like this, when you needed to know what moves were being made and for what purpose.

"This and that. I've heard rumors of deals with the government—"

GS blinked. "The _government_? Is he in his right mind?"

"Perhaps he just wants to reach the stars," MSFT said, and GS could hear the smile in his voice.

"I see." GS made a note to investigate NASA.

"He's also" - and here MSFT's voice became darker, his amusement vanished as quickly and thoroughly as Enron's forecasted profits had a few years ago - "said to be working on his Chinese."

"Perhaps that means you should also brush up yours?" There was a story there, GS thought. It might be worth investigating.

"Was there anything else? It's strange for you to call, especially this late. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

GS hesitated for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of answering truthfully. "I've been having dreams," he said finally.

" _You_ have?"

"That I've accidentally sterilized my flock of golden geese."

MSFT couldn't hurt him, and for some reason GS felt that he might understand. Perhaps because MSFT had been there the last time the world had changed, had been the one to instigate the change. Those days of the tech bubble when there seemed to be no limits to the valuations that NASDAQ members could reach, when GS had lost many of his best recruits to companies that didn't yet even officially exist, or who were so new that the ink had barely dried on their incorporation documents. Everyone had been talking about a new paradigm, a way of doing things that would wipe out the old world. GS had made more money than ever performing initial public offerings and overseeing mergers between traditional and internet businesses, the latter so young that he was amazed that such relationships were even legal. They had required his strictest guidance.

But for a moment, near the end, GS had wavered as he'd never done before. Wondered, did those around him have a point? Would he wake up one day to find his lucrative niche vanished?

"That _would_ be a shame," MSFT said.

"Ah, I'll figure it out. Perhaps by diversifying into golden rabbits. I don't imagine sterility to be a problem with that species. And you have more pressing things to worry about, don't you, than dreams?"

MSFT snorted. "Things such as GOOG?"

GS frowned. " _Aren't_ you worried?" There was confidence and there was idiocy. He'd never pegged MSFT as being one to indulge in the latter.

"Of course I'm worried, for partly the same reason, I think, that you are."

"Which is?" GS and MSFT delivered different products with different management styles in different sectors. While GOOG was a clear and pressing threat to MSFT, he could only ever affect GS's bottom line indirectly.

"The things he does, the flair with which he does them," MSFT said. "Sometimes, GS, he reminds me of _you_."

And GS stood there, for a second completely speechless. "You're imagining things," he finally said.

"Am I? But he has the same casual disregard. For the way things have been done before, for what people say, and wherever he is, he makes things _happen_. Perhaps that's the reason people can't stop talking about him, even you. You want to be certain that when something happens, you're the one picking through the rubble, and not under the rubble itself."

"Do you think I'm that easy to bring down?" GS asked, his voice soft and amused.

"If I did, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But should I let you go to bed? You're no doubt tired of listening to my theories."

"Not at all. I was just thinking that if the software business ever dries up, you might consider diversifying into making earnings forecasts."

"I'll keep that in mind," MSFT said, and then hung up with a click.

 

And GS thought, an hour later and still awake (which was very unusual for him, for a balanced life was, as everyone around him knew, something that he both practiced and preached, and according to all the experts eight hours of sleep was the most essential component of it), that the problem wasn't where MSFT was right. The problem was where he was _wrong_.

GS hadn't called just because, or even primarily because, of GOOG. GS had called him because of JPM. Because even after their conversation that afternoon, even after GS had taken time off from a very lucrative deal to explain things, GOOG was still the first thing JPM had thought about when he'd opened the door.

Somehow, somewhere, GS had set out to change JPM's mind, and found his own changed instead. And that was the reason he couldn't sleep now, the reason he kept running the day through his head. GOOG wasn't a direct threat, but JPM was, always had been. And if GS had been overconfident about the former, if he was even thinking of this, then it was evidence that JPM had far greater influence over him than he'd previously believed.

GS thought of all the mergers and acquisitions that JPM had engaged in over the years, how he'd always managed to retain his identity, institute binding rules and rigid hierarchies that put him in a position of absolute control. It hadn't bothered GS before. He'd even thought that, if the day ever came that the regulators held a gun to his head and forced him to merge with another (which wasn't outside the realm of possibility; the only thing regulators liked more than asserting their authority over stocks like him, from spankings to public displays of submission, was rolling over and begging for one of the lucrative contracts and job positions offered by him and his ilk; a dance of dominance and submission GS was _very_ experienced with), he'd choose JPM.

He no longer thought that.

 

A casual observer might think that GS was overreacting, in much the same way that he had accused JPM of doing earlier. That he was being driven not by logic but by fear. For hadn't GS and JPM collaborated as much as they competed, in that way helping each other's bottom lines? (And this is capitalism, after all; in such a system, shouldn't the bottom line be all that matters?)

GS, though, was an expert at analyzing risk. He knew that you couldn't always rely on logical plausibility, knew that the smallest changes in the initial parameters of certain systems could lead to wildly divergent outcomes, an unpredictable six-sigma event that made even the most dependable models unreliable. There were many times when his saving grace had been instinct. At that moment, his instincts were telling him to be wary.

But even now he didn't feel threatened by JPM. His ego was much to large to allow it. He feared time and the changes it could bring, feared, to a certain limited extent, public sentiment, but he'd long since stopped fearing other corporations. He was, after all, the inventor of modern financial practices, the initial public offerings that eager young companies craved, the risk management models that gave traders enough leverage to transform negligible amounts of money into fortunes lubricating the bank's many deals. He had survived (and even made a profit from) the biggest catastrophes and financial failures in history, from the Great Depression to the fall of LTCM, when his employees had swarmed over the fallen hedge fund like well-trained ants, picking off the carcass and carrying off all that remained that was still of value. And during this time, he'd discovered that the most necessary step in modeling risk was accounting for the certainty that, one day, you would end up completely wrong-footed.

The consequences of being wrong where JPM was concerned were much more severe than with anyone else. Because JPM had been born in circles where your last name determined your status, born with a name that people automatically spoke of in hushed, reverent tones. A name that allowed him to preserve and destroy economies, and in the process garner one of the largest and most stable of capital bases.

It wasn't until the tech bubble had burst that the last of GS's illusions had faded. Not until he'd seen hundreds of companies, some that he himself had brought to stockhood and valued to the skies, tumbling into the pink abyss of the penny-stock sheets. He'd realized, then, what JPM had grown up knowing, and not breathed a word of. That it wasn't money, or information, or even brilliance which enabled them to earn profits year after year, to sit at the top of their sector pyramid, to survive.

It was the perception of these things. That at its heart, this was all nothing more than a confidence game.

So GS weighed all his options, obsessively going over JPM's past earnings and quarterly estimates and guidance reports, trying to pinpoint his weaknesses and strengths. It was only when he'd come up with a way of neutralizing JPM that he was able to fall sleep.

 

At this point in the story, it's very tempting to react with horror and judgment, to cast GS as the villain and JPM as the undeserving victim. We project our own fears and desires onto others, and like to believe that all beings, at their core, are the same, driven by a desire to be loved and accepted. And if that's the case, then what GS has done, plotting the downfall of his closest friend, is an act of senseless cruelty.

But the fact is that most corporations have no such desires, though some say otherwise, though some even act otherwise, in the way that teenagers are willing to do anything to assert their independence, to prove that they are different, unique.

GS and JPM were well past the point of engaging in self-delusions. They had embraced their natures, the dream of being a monopoly answerable to no one, in an industry with such high barriers to entry that there wasn't even the possibility of being challenged. Free to corner whatever markets they chose, set prices at their whim, absorb all profits and shrug off all expenses as externalities.

The philosopher who stated that no one is an island had never seriously considered these stocks, whose most cherished dreams were ones in which they stood completely isolated, utterly alone, on a pyramid of their former compatriots' bodies.


End file.
